Lonliness is not just an emotion
by elquendi
Summary: It's a state of being. When one is told every day that they're worthless, they can't help but start to believe it's true.
1. Chapter 1

Even as he sits in the middle of the climbing frame, laughter all around him, smile on his face, Naruto is alone. He aches, throat strained and stomach clenched as one of his fellows smiles at him, eyes bright and sparkling in a face far too innocent to belong in this world. He aches, because he knows that smile is not for him. Knows his regard is fleeting, knows that beneath that smile lurks disinterest and impatience, warmth reserved for those who matter, those who aren't _demons_.

"Come on then!"- a shout, hand extended for him to grab. The hand is not truly for him, Naruto _knows _this. He's not worth kindness. He's been told _that_ lots of times. And so, because he knows this, Naruto pushes the bright eyed boy away and watches as his predictions prove true and those warm eyes turn instantly cold.

* * *

Anyone else with thoughts on the effects of external stimuli on self perception? Review and share them with us! :)


	2. Chapter 2

No one taught Naruto to walk. They simply left him in the pen with the other babies and tried to cope with the huge influx of orphans in the aftermath of the Kyuubi's destruction. Not greatly burdened by the lack of attention, Naruto developed quickly on his own. Constantly surrounded by the (somewhat) controlled chaos of far too many young children, he had ample exposure to both language and emotion. Day after day he watched with solemn blue eyes the riotous swirl of life all around him. Perhaps it was this busy environment, or perhaps it was simply his innate intelligence (or something more sinister…?), but Naruto developed extraordinarily fast.

At the beginning of his second month he spoke his first word. The staff were duly astonished, but dismissed the occasion in favour of more important concerns. At 3 months he had started to crawl, and by the time he reached his 5th month, Naruto had already taken his first, hesitating steps alongside the fence of his pen. But as busy as the carers were, he was nothing more than a passing footnote, marvelled at and avoided as much as possible until the moment he started speaking full, reasoned sentences at 6 months.

Soon after, the rumours began. Whispers of demons and unnatural growth. All knew of the fate of the Kyuubi and the loss of their most beloved Sidaime. Six months was not enough time for the resentment to fade away- deaths were still at the forefront of everyone's minds, and the gaping scars in the town of Konoha bore testimony to the viciousness of the attack. And so when the news came of the demon container's abnormally fast development, the first thought was that this, the most powerful of the demons, had somehow found a way to influence its host and was even now plotting its escape. The whispers spread, rumors growing in size and viciousness. Soon even the orphanage children knew that Naruto was 'dangerous' and small, tentative efforts at friendships were curtailed by elders who made sure his 'corruption' could not infect his peers.

The village waited with a grim detirmination for the day that the Kyuubi would return to kill them all whilst the young prodigy continued his rapid growth, alone and uninfluenced by a single kind word or gentle touch.


	3. Chapter 3

_A shadow crept across the room, silent and foreboding, unseen and unfelt by the shinobi running atop the roofs outside. Reaching the middle of the still, dark room, it paused, head swivelling as it inspected the many rows of sleeping children. Then, it turned and stalked slowly among the beds, until it stood over a cot on the far side of the room, staring down at the tufts of blonde hair peeking out of the blankets and falling unkempt over the pillow. It stood contemplatively, eyes cold, until in a flurry of movement a kunai swooped at the middle of the mass lying still on the bed and sunk deep, hardly halted by the soft flesh that parted under its edge. _

_Suddenly, the hushed silence of the dark dormitory was broken by an anguished wail, the small infant now upright, arms clenched tight to his side. The shadow snarled, arm pulling back for another blow- but then it froze, motionless, held tight in the grip of a furious carer._

"_What the _fuck_ do you think you're _doing_?"_

* * *

Naruto had never felt so terrified in his life. He was woken by pain, a horrible numb-hurt that scared him more than any scrape or cut he'd ever had before. He bolted upright, unable to hold back his cry as he jarred his side in his effort to discover what was wrong, unable to understand why he could feel wet, torn flesh where there should have been smooth, warm skin.

Whimpering, he glanced up as he heard a voice above him, hoping whoever it was would be willing to help, knowing that was unlikely. Then, he froze as he met the coldest eyes he had ever seen. Hard and cold and grey. They spewed such cold loathing that he could barely breathe.

"Monster!" the eyes snarled. "Fucking _demon_!" The eyes were being dragged slowly away as the commotion roused the children and drew the carers. The eyes turned to the intruders as they were grabbed. "He killed Himeko! It _killed_ her! That fucking fox KILLED HIMEKO! He killed _everyone_!"

The man's cries echoed down the hallway as sleepy eyes peered at the shocked toddler whimpering on his cot, and an adult reluctantly approached to offer aid- but not comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

Naruto had not understood the words of the man- he certainly didn't know who the fox was meant to be. He did understand one thing though- he was a _demon_. He wasn't _quite_ sure what a demon was, but he was sure it was bad- no wonder everyone wanted him to stay away. Both carers and children shunned him, and so, deprived of meaningful human company, he instead spent much of his time observing the interactions of those around him. He watched the infants play blocks in the pen. He looked on as toddlers threw balls, or painted outside. He observed the children doing puzzles and arranging flowers, or those making decorations, or traps, or ropes, or bracelets. He puzzled over the way the adults looked after the children, the way they laughed and talked so happily with each other, and yet could scowl so horribly at him in the next instant.

He watched the girls, and learned why yellow roses should never be matched with white or pink, even if they _do_ look pretty! He learned that _some_ plants could be eaten, but others made people sick- but that was good too, sometimes. He learned that if there weren't enough blocks at the bottom of a tower, it would come crashing down with nary a breath of wind. He learned there was a _right _way to toss kunai, idiot! Most importantly, he learned that if he wanted to live, he had better learn to look after himself- quickly. There was no room for the weak in the world of shinobi.

And that was what it was- _shinobi_. It was a magical name, whispering of dark secrets and hidden fears, mystery and wonder and horror all mixed up together. It terrified him, and it thrilled him. He took to hovering around the elders as they discussed the latest news, sharing stories of life outside the walls of the village. Bright stories of life and hope gave him light in the darkness that was his life. Heroes made by virtue of their skill and the terror they inspired in Konoha's enemies showed him his path to greatness.

At night he lay, silent and alone, and wondered _what_ it was about him that made him so different- that made him demon. No matter how long he thought, he could never decide on an answer. He had studied his dorm-mates behaviour, and didn't feel his was so very different. He could not think himself any worse than them; in fact, he rather thought himself better- for at three he could walk as well as they; but better, he could run and jump and climb, and talked quite clearly, and did not cry for attention. Yet his superiority was cold comfort to the small toddler, who felt keenly his isolation. He constantly sought approval, and it troubled him that it hovered, always, just outside his reach. No matter how quiet, helpful, diligent or successful with his toys he was, he never recieved a share in the approbation given so freely to his peers.

Frustrated and lonely, he sought recognition in any way he could, trying to do something no one else his age could manage. He started by teaching himself to read the story books scattered around the play area. He found though, that this backfired- there was no reaction to his tentative attempts to read out loud, save for pinched lips and –_funny _– eyes, harsh looks quickly masked. It was, he eventually decided, because it was a 'shinobi' village. Books wouldn't help the village- no wonder they didn't want him reading, when he couldn't even hold a kunai properly! He was three years old, and quite capable of the excercises they gave the five-year-olds in preparation for the Academy. The lonely orphan decided. He would train as his elders who attended the Academy- he would watch, and listen, and hide; train his body, and his mind, and his aim. With the determination with which he had learnt to read, Konoha's smallest shinobi-in-training set himself the task of learning to defend himself.


End file.
